If you wake up in a field of green grass, looking at a woman of flesh and steel. Be glad, you are dead. If you wake up covered in blood and shit, be gladder still. For you are alive and your time is not yet come!

The soldiers charged screaming into battle, their faces twisted into masks of hatred as they struck out with blows stronger then humans would normally be capable of. Each wore on his shield arm a Star of Rage, a starfish-like creature, ruddy red with the blood that it was draining from his body.

"Their trumpets are also of a peculiar and barbaric kind which produce a harsh, reverberating sound suitable to the confusion of battle."
from the memoirs of Diodorus Siculus,
Commander of the Legion XIX (retired)

War has begun, and the troops have begun to move. Lying on the border between Esteov and the God’s Spine Mountains, Kerrengen Keep secures the main source of fresh water for the capital of Esteov, Lake Kerrengen.

Long has the question of truth been pondered. Long has this been a folly few recognise in time. A killer, a soldier even with a sword is one thing. But a killer who thinks he has found a definite truth, which he decides to fight for, is the most dangerous man in the world.

The nurse put a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly, “Calm down, sir, you’re inside a hospital. You’re safe.”
The man’s eyes darted back and forth, his whole body shaking in terror, “Nooo,” He whispered, “I’ll never be safe, I saw him, I saw him jerking and writhing around, then he looked straight at me and fell over.”

Exiled from their home this elite military force is adrift in a foriegn land. All these people have ever known is war so they put themselves for sale as mere mercenaries at the same price as any other sword slingers. But these men have brought a new type of type of warfare to the northern lands and the fields of battle will run red with their enemy’s blood.

“Woe, brethren! What hath these gods wrought? For a thousand suns we have had peace, and now in an instant the light is being extinguished. How can any survive in these Wars of the Sects?”
- Arbiter Ariston Nikomachus

The Continent and its faiths have thrived with little fuss for a millenium. And now, with a few holy words, all of heaven, earth, and hell seem to be at war…

Standing atop the parched hill and triumphantly displaying their gory trophies , the berserker s begin to shriek aloud their terrible, keening war-cries, confident that the coming battle will belong to them as the enemy flees before their frenzied onslaught, all its discipline and training forgotten in the face of a foe that harbors no fear at all for any enemy born of humanity.

Just as the red mist clouding their eyes begins to fill their minds with fantasies of mass slaughter, a mass of shadowy figures suddenly materialises out of the darkness, charging towards the berserkers with long, loping strides that lend them speed that is at once awesome and terrifying to witness, even to the crazed minds of these onlookers.

As a heavy,furry shape hurtles into the the commander, he falls to the ground, his throat ripped out by the savage fangs of his assailant. As his life ebbs away from him in the rapidly expanding jet of blood gushing from his ripped arteries, savage growls become the lullaby lulling him into the never-ending slumber of death.

When parapsychic abilities began manifesting, martial artists found that their discipline from years of training provided them with the acumen and ability to channel and control the unexpected powers that now flowed from their fingertips.